


We're Standing On A Fault Line

by auroreanrave



Series: save it with celluloid [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Bombs, Friends to Lovers, High Stress Situation, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Possessive Behavior, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things that Sam had considered doing on Christmas Eve, running around with a handsome secret agent who he'd previously considered to be just a friend, trying to defuse a bomb in the middle of London, was definitely not in the top ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Standing On A Fault Line

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series called 'Save It with Celluloid' which takes movie genres and places characters in new situations. 'We're Standing On A Fault Line' takes note of the 'spy' genre and has Jon and Sam in the middle of the climax of an MI6 thriller.
> 
> The title comes from the song 'Magnetic' by Fenech-Soler.

Standing in the middle of London, the eyes of MI6 on him, and with a handsome stranger - or sort-of stranger - holding his wrist as he pulls him along a crowded street, is not really what Sam envisioned when he had wondered about what he would be doing on Christmas Eve.

Jon - if that's even his real name - yanks him down behind a parked car, just as a bullet whizzes past and embeds itself in the granite wall behind them. "Easy there," Jon grins, his own handgun spinning up to fire a returning shot, "don't want that pretty head of yours getting hurt."

It had all started about six weeks ago. Sam had been happily quiet and alone in his Psychology 101 class at a local college - ever since moving out of his familial home and all but being disowned by his family, any support for a more prestigious university had vanished and the local college had been the best on offer - when Jon had sat down beside him, flashed a grin, and immediately began asking him about psychoanalytic theory in the Fifties.

Jon had rapidly become his best friend - he was smart and funny and really _listened_ to Sam, something he'd never really experienced beyond online forums and the odd Skype buddy. They'd spent a lot of time in the library or at Jon's place or at a local pub and Sam just liked it. Liked him.

Of course, just when Sam had fallen head over heels for him, his low-rent flat had somehow been ransacked and Jon turned up for a seminar on humanistic approaches in psychology with a black eye, cuts on his forehead and a nasty laceration across his collarbone.

Things had gone from weird to downright bizarre when on a night out at their local haunt, a bearded man in his late twenties had approached Jon and the pair had gone away for a bit. Sam, his heart sinking into his stomach, realised that Jon had a boyfriend. Or so he thought.

"Come on, it's this way..." Jon trailed off, ducking up from the bonnet of the car to fire off two more shots in the direction of the black-clad man who had been trailing them for the past twenty minutes.

"How are we going to - " Sam's query was cut off, abruptly, when Jon fired and the bullet smacked into the black-clad man's forehead with a wet thump and a spray of blood that decorated the side of a solicitor's front entrance.

Jon pulled Sam to his feet, the pair hurrying down an alleyway and moving through several dozen rubbish bags and old bins to reach the street on the other side. Dusk was drawing swiftly in, thick and brightly coloured Christmas lights hanging from building to building and illuminating them as they hurried through.

"You alright? He didn't hit you or anything..." Jon turned around, concern in his features, and Sam shook his head. "No, I'm fine, just... yeah. Fine."

Jon nodded after a moment of just... _staring_ at Sam's face, and then wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist and tugged him down and across the road, gun still tight and professional in the other hand.

An hour ago, Sam had just thought that Jon was a ridiculously hot, handsome, fantastic guy who had a weakness for peppermint-syrup-flavoured coffee and had a boyfriend. Not a _secret fucking agent_.

The bullets churning through his front door had been a big clue though. Followed by a rather muscular man wearing a black bodysuit and a look of anger and Jon kicking the crap out of him, the pair surging through the remains of Sam's front door. The fight had ended rather spectacularly by Jon ramming the wooden table leg from the remains of Sam's coffee table into the man's face. Hard.

"Sorry 'bout that." Jon had apologised, standing and taking a look around Sam's flat which looked like the scene of a... well, it _was_ the scene of a crime now. Sam scurried back against the wall, lamp raised as the closest thing to a weapon as he could muster, and Jon's eyes widened.

"No no no, I'm not - don't worry, I'm... Christ, Sam. It's okay." Jon sighed, his hands raised in the universal palms-apart signal for 'trust me'. Which Sam really wanted to do, if it hadn't been for the fact that Jon had just killed a man in his living room with a chunk of wood and he was freaking out.

Jon had touched his earpiece - which, wow, an earpiece - and said, "Syrio, he just attacked Sam. I'm gonna do a mobile extraction. Not safe." Then a pause. " _Shit_. Alright track the CCTV and send me the coordinates."

Jon looked up at Sam. "Listen, I know this is hard to understand, but I'm one of the good guys. And I need you to come with me right now, otherwise more men like him will be coming here and they will try to kill you and I _really_ don't want that. So, please. Come with me."

"If I want to live?" Sam had responded because there was nothing else to say and he felt very much like Sarah Connor with a gorgeous Kyle Reese standing in front of him. Less time travel though. Hopefully.

Jon grinned. "Yeah."

Running along the street now, Jon paused and checked the map on his phone, a pulsing red dot appearing, letting go of Sam's wrist but shifting closer to him as if to compensate.

"Okay, it should be just down... here." Jon takes off down another alleyway, the Christmas lights changing from rainbow hues to white. In the middle of the empty courtyard they had entered, a blue and red sports bag was propped against a bag of rubbish, and Jon and Sam advanced towards it.

"Syrio, we've spotted the target. Checking now." Jon peeled open the bag gently, revealing a tangled mass of wires, several packs of something black and sinister... and a timer. Counting down from ten minutes.

The bag lurched forward suddenly as the bag of rubbish toppled over and Sam, heart in his chest, dove for it, steadying it with his hands, adrenaline surging through him like a shot of whiskey until he was left, half-crouching and with the bag suspended halfway to the ground.

"Don't move, Sam. Please... don't _move_." Sam looked up and saw Jon's face. Concern, frustration, panic.

Oh, _bugger_. He was _literally_ holding a bomb. A ticking, volatile bomb that would probably kill hundreds. Maybe thousands.

"It's alright, Syrio's going to talk me through this." Jon hunkered down beside him. The lights above him made Jon look angelic, soft even in this moment.

"Okay, apparently it's going to take more time for a bomb squad to get here, so I'm going to try and defuse it myself." Sam nodded vaguely. Autopilot mode engaged.

"I'm, uh, sorry. I had to lie to you." Jon said, rolling his shirt sleeves up, and lifting a small bunch of wires. From another pocket, he removed a penknife, flicking it open to reveal a small blade. "I didn't want to. Really. But it was the job."

"Getting to know me was part of the job too?"

"No. Well, yeah, but not..." Jon huffed in frustration, hand going to his earpiece. "Syrio, there are _four_ that are green, that's not - "

Jon paused, taking a deep breath. "I was supposed to integrate into the college. The target was there. But you, Sam, I... that was all you. I got to like you. A lot."

Jon's knife sliced down into one of the green wires and to Sam's horror, the timer began to climb down faster.

"Oh, bugger." Sam whispered. Then he paused.

"Go, Jon." Jon paused, shocked at Sam's words, steadier than he felt. "It's going to go off anyway and if I put it down, it'll kill us both anyway. This time you can get out, save some people. I - I know that this assignment or job or whatever is important. That you're important. You need to go, go save people's lives. I'm not that speci - "

He was cut off, unceremoniously, when Jon - his face previously ashen with horror at Sam's words - wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's head and kissed him, fervent and warm and _aching_ and if it hadn't been a literal life-and-death situation, Sam would have kissed him back harder and wrapped a hand around Jon's neck and - 

"The _hell_ I am. We can still fix this." Jon leaned forward, his words fierce, resting his forehead against Sam's for a moment. "Syrio, get us out of here."

"If that kiss was because we're going to die... I'm not that sorry. Under the circumstances." Sam added, breathing heavily.

"No," Jon said, pulling distractedly at wires, "I kissed you because I've been wanting to do it since we first met. I haven't stopped thinking about it."

Sam froze because _what?_ That didn't - that doesn't - _what?_

"Syrio, there's no - wait." Jon rubbed at his lower lip and then rubbed at one of the red wires, colour peeling away and revealing a swathe of azure underneath beneath the crimson coat of paint.

"If we get out of this," Sam said, watching the timer as it trickled down, "you are taking me on a proper date."

"It's Christmas Eve," Jon added, penknife in his hand arcing down delicately, "I can do better than that. I'm going to find the best hotel in London we can hack into, get the best suite. Egyptian cotton, room service, queen size, the works. And then we get there, we're going to shower and eat as much food as we can and sleep and then I'm going to fuck you until you _scream_."

Sam gulped, face flushing red.

"There's no other way I'd rather spend the next few days - or any other day in fact - than taking you apart until all you can think about is me," Jon continued, working the knife over the newly-blue wire, "and then we can talk and I can tell you everything and make it up to you. _Really_ make it up to you for lying about who I really am. And then you can move into my place. No arguments, you can't stay there. Not without a front - "

The wire snapped under the force of the wire, Jon and Sam's breath hitching in their throats.

The timer juttered to a halt with seven seconds to go, before the red lights surrounding the timer began to slowly power down, fading away silently.

" - door." Jon said. Sam nearly sank to the ground all the way, relief washing over him.

"Syrio," Jon said a moment later, a long sigh of relief punctuated with a devilish smirk as he leaned in towards Sam who placed the bag back down on the ground, "the bomb's been disabled. Get SO-19 out here."

Sam sighed, trying to calm his racing heart. Jon's hand slid up his wrist, seeking warmth and comfort, and Sam felt immeasurably at peace. Like the world had stopped spinning wildly and he was rooted here. To Jon. Flecks of snow had begun to drift lazily from the sky, drifting into Jon's hair. He looked... peaceful, Sam thought. He liked it.

Jon paused, snorting with a chuckle. "I thought you might have heard all that. Still..." He grinned at Sam, "...nothing that isn't true anyway. Tell her I'll give the debrief in a few days and get me the best suite that you can at the Dorchester. Stick the cost on the company, they'll foot the bill. They owe me one - or _seven_ after this."

Jon stood, Sam following a moment later. Jon smiled at him, a proprietary hand on Sam's hip, and kissed him again underneath the soft white lights, as comforting as the scent of home and as tender as the touch of a lover.


End file.
